The answer twists around my heart with barbed wire. It cuts through me like a million dull razor blades—the kind of man who’s been so focused on saving everyone else, he doesn’t know how to save himself.
The kind of man who doesn’t deserve her but wants her anyway.
Clover has always chosen me. Isn’t it time I did the same?
Will she even forgive me? For what I did as a child? Maybe. For what I did two days ago?
My stomach cramps.
I’m not sure which infraction is worse.
My lips tug up at the corner because, against all odds, I have no doubt that Clover Danforth will tell me in no uncertain terms exactly where I stand.
All I have to do is…return to the only place that will ever be home.
To her.
I’ve never groveled a day in my life, but I might spend the rest of it on my knees, begging for forgiveness because the truth is, I’m a fucking idiot.
The drive back feels different.
Hopeful.
Excited.
Anxious.
It’s the same highway, the same mile markers, but everything has shifted. The memories of my mistakes don’t crush me the way they did before because this time, I’m running straight at them.
As long as I can keep my eyes open long enough to make it there. The effects of the sleeping pills I’ve taken leave my brain foggy and disorganized. It’s why I generally refuse to take them.
I’m on my third energy drink when I finally remember to plug in my phone. As soon as it holds a charge, it buzzes, and Roman’s name flashes on the console.
He’s going to be pissed that I didn’t call him back sooner.
I answer without taking my jittery gaze off the road. The last thing I need is to get into an accident before I can apologize. “I fucked up, I know. I’m already coming home.”
A pause. “Well, at least you’re on the same page then.”
His words don’t register at first, and I consider pulling over to pay attention.
“Valen? Are you there?”
“Yeah.” I flick the blinker, preparing to pull over.
“Clover boarded a plane to Charlotte this morning.”
My tires squeal as I slam on the brakes and cross three lanes of traffic.
“What did you just say?”
“She’s heading to Charlotte.”
I glance up at the sign directly in front of me: Welcome to Georgia. “But I’m—I’m not there.”
Clover doesn’t fly. Why did she fly?
“I know. Now that you finally turned on your fucking phone, we’re tracking you,” Roman says. There’s humor in his tone, but also relief. “I called your doorman, but we’d just missed you.”
